Queen of Thieves
by spaztronaut
Summary: Freed from her past and now attending college in Boston, Felicity Smoak thinks she might finally have a chance at a normal life. That is, until Oliver Queen suddenly shows up with news about her father, international thief Noah Kuttler. With her past catching up to her, she'll have to face the sins of her father and come to terms with the feelings she thought she'd put behind her.
1. Chapter 1

**Some of you have probably read this before, since it was originally posted as part of my Just Something About You one shots collection, but I've always wanted to go back and play around in this universe and I finally have! So I'm posting this as a separate WIP and will be turning it into it's own full length story. The second chapter should be posted sometime this weekend.**

###

"Felicity, have you ever heard of hacktivism?"

Felicity stood in the middle of the quad, rolling her eyes at her boyfriend. They'd only been dating, officially, for a month, but they'd been friends since her sophomore year, so she knew where this conversation was likely headed.

"Of course, I've heard of hacktivism, Cooper," she said. "I'm a hacker."

Cooper grinned, speeding up so he could walk backwards ahead of her. "Exactly, you're just a hacker. But we could be heroes, babe."

"And how, exactly, does wiping out a bunch of student loan debt turn us into heroes?" she questioned, tipping her head to the side, causing a few long, black strands of hair to fall into her face.

He'd been pitching this idea ever since Felicity explained what her theoretical 'super virus' would be capable of. She knew Cooper had a bit of a Robin Hood fixation, but she'd hoped after shooting him down the first two times he'd have called it quits on the stealing-from-the-rich-to-keep-the-poor-out-of-debt plan. He had no idea the kind of life something like that led to...

Cooper stopped walking, reaching out to grab her shoulders. "The amount of money they charge for college is insane, Felicity. You know you wouldn't have been able to afford MIT without your scholarships. Neither would I. They're putting kids into debt just to line their pockets..."

Cooper kept talking, going on about the corruption of the educational system and the greed of big business. Something like that, Felicity wasn't sure. The only thing she could focus on was the familiar face she'd suddenly noticed across the quad.

And he'd noticed her, too.

Had been noticing her, in fact. He'd been watching her, quietly leaning back against the wall of the student union, his ankles crossed, hands stuffed into his pockets. A small smirk ticked up the corner of his mouth when she finally noticed him and he pushed off the wall, walking over to where she and Cooper were standing.

Felicity felt her whole world slowing down and somehow spinning out of control all at once with each step he took.

He was here. Right here.

He wasn't supposed to be here.

They'd promised her.

"You went goth," he said as he finally stopped beside them, smile still on his lips, hands still stuffed into the pockets of his peacoat. He looked casual, but Felicity knew him too well to buy it. He wasn't any happier about him being here then she was.

Cooper's mouth slammed shut and he spun around to see who was interrupting him. That's when Felicity realized she'd tuned him out while he'd been talking openly, in a very public area, about committing a felony. Did Felicity know how to pick 'em or what?

"What the hell do you want?" Cooper scowled at the newcomer, taking in his expensive peacoat and designer jeans with disdain. To Cooper, this was just another spoiled rich frat boy.

To Felicity it was her past coming back to bite her in the ass.

"Oliver, what are you doing here?" she asked. She kept her voice low because maybe he wasn't real. Maybe this was some bizarre hallucination or dream and she'd wake up back in her dorm and Oliver Queen would not be standing in the middle of the MIT campus staring at her.

Even though his small smile never wavered, Felicity could see the regret flash through his blue eyes before his walls slammed down and his expression went blank. Typical Oliver. Slowly, he dragged his gaze from her, only to pin it on Cooper.

"Hi," he said, holding out a hand. "I'm Oliver Queen."

Cooper ignored his offered hand, furrowing his brow at the name. "Queen?" he repeated. "As in Queen Consolidated? As in you're the heir to the Queen fortune?"

Oliver smirked, stuffing his hand back into his pocket. "Well, I like to think I'm more than just my family's money, but yes. I'm that Oliver Queen. And if you don't mind," Oliver added, turning toward Felicity, "I would love a minute to catch up with my girl, here."

Cooper bristled, whether at the dismissal or Oliver's familiarity with her, Felicity didn't know. Honestly, she didn't care.

"I'm not your girl, Oliver," she said, scowling at him.

Oliver just smiled, and damn him, it was a real one. A full, one hundred watt grin, as he said, "You'll always be my girl, Felicity."

"I don't know who the hell you think you are, Richy Rich, but you can go fu—"

"Cooper! Give us a minute," Felicity snapped, but she never took her eyes off of Oliver.

"Felicity?"

She glanced back at her boyfriend. He was staring at her, wide eyed and open mouthed. "Just go," she told him. "I'll come over your room in a little while."

After a few tense moments, Cooper grit his teeth and stormed off in the direction of the dorms. Great, now she was going to have to deal with his attitude later...

"Please, tell me you're not sleeping with that idiot," Oliver said on a soft sigh, like he was truly disappointed in her taste in men.

It irritated the hell out of her.

"He's a genius," she said, crossing her arms over her chest defensively.

Oliver rolled his eyes, tilting his head back and staring up at the sky as if for strength. "Because IQ score is the only factor in whether or not someone's worthy of you."

"Why do you care who's worthy of me?" she snapped at him. Who the hell did he think he was?

He didn't answer, but she could see the muscles in his jaw ticking under his skin. Then, in the blink of an eye, he switched on that Ollie Queen charm.

"I liked you better in your glasses," he smiled, the tension from a moment ago completely forgotten. He reached out, tugging on a lock of her dark hair and she batted his hand away. "You stopped dying it."

"I'm trying something new," she muttered, trying to ignore how his sudden switch in demeanor caught her off guard. She hadn't seen him in years, she wasn't used to his moodiness anymore.

"It's working for you," he said, eyeing her up and down, taking in her cargo pants and leather jacket. Finally, he looked up with a dazzling smile. "Gotta say, I do miss the ponytail though."

"What are you doing here, Oliver?" She straightened her spine and looked him in the eye. She would not let him charm her. Those days were long gone and she had a life here. She wouldn't let him distract her from it.

"It's your father," Oliver said, and for a split second, the look in his eye had her frozen in fear. What'd happened to her father that had Oliver Queen tracking her down at MIT to tell her in person? But then Oliver shook his head and said, "He's been arrested."

The fear she'd felt dissipated in a flash, only to be replaced by anger and annoyance and, well, a different kind of fear. Her father had been arrested...

"Of course, he's been arrested. He's a thief," Felicity muttered, to herself or to Oliver, she didn't know. She turned and walked away, not sure where she was going, but her hands were shaking and if she was going to have a breakdown she needed to not be in the middle of campus when it happened.

"This is serious, Felicity," Oliver said, following after her. "Interpol picked him up yesterday in Paris."

"What was he stealing this time?" she asked, and she was almost impressed at how calm she sounded when the lump in her throat felt like it might actually choke her.

Oliver didn't answer right away and Felicity turned to see his eyes shift back and forth once. Oliver's go-to guilty look. "It might have had something to do with the Skeleton Key," he mumbled.

"The Skeleton Key," she growled, then at the look on Oliver's face, she threw her hands up in the air. "It's a myth!"

The Skeleton Key was her father's white whale—a be-all end-all piece of technology that could supposedly unlock any door—and, in the years since she'd met Oliver, it had become his, as well.

"We had good intel." He shrugged, looking slightly lost. Which he probably was, considering his mentor was currently in protective custody halfway around the world for grand larceny.

"You helped him?" she snarled, and he took a quick step back, pulling his hands from his pockets to hold them up in a placating gesture.

"William Tockman surfaced in Paris," he explained. "He was living in a multimillion dollar apartment with a Picasso hanging in the guest bathroom." Oliver made a face. "He has the Skeleton Key, I know he does. Tockman's not that good a thief."

"Cause, God forbid, someone out there is better at stealing things than you or my father," Felicity hissed at him.

"There's only one person I know that's better at stealing things than me or your father," he said with a small shake of his head, stepping closer to her. "And it isn't William Tockman."

Felicity narrowed her eyes. "Is that why you're here?" she asked. "You're not here to tell me about my father, Oliver. You're here because my father getting arrested interrupted whatever con you're pulling and you need me to finish it."

"I'm here for a lot of reasons," he said ambiguously. "But, yes. I need you. You're father needs you."

"My father needs a lawyer," Felicity said, shaking her head and turning away again, when a large, warm hand wrapped around her wrist, tugging her back toward him.

"Noah needs you," he breathed, leaning in closer than Felicity was comfortable with. His face was less than a foot from her's, his warm breath fanning across her cheeks. "Interpol didn't catch him because we slipped up. They caught him because we were set up."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Felicity demanded, wrenching herself from his grasp and taking a step back.

Oliver hadn't been a great thief went she'd first met him. To this day he was still a lousy pickpocket. But the one thing Oliver had always been good at was conning people. The touching, the soft tone of voice, the lingering glances... They were all just weapons in his arsenal and she would not allow herself to be conned by him. Not again.

Oliver's blue eyes hardened. "Malcolm," was all he said.

To anyone else, it was just a name. To Felicity Smoak, that name was the equivalent of summoning the devil himself.

"Malcolm Merlyn is in prison," she argued.

"No," Oliver said, his gaze fixing on a spot over Felicity's head. "I called Tommy. Malcolm was released two weeks ago. I'm not sure how it got passed us."

"Because we weren't looking for it," Felicity mumbled, glancing over at a group of students playing with a skateboard. A guy, not much older than Felicity's nineteen years, was trying to do a kickflip. He kept stumbling, but hadn't fallen yet.

"Malcolm was supposed to be in prison for at least two more years before they considered parole," she said, turning back to Oliver. "Why would they let him out early?"

"I don't know," Oliver said, scrubbing a hand down his face. "Tommy said something about the lawyers finding new evidence. Malcolm must have given them something on Noah. And I'd bet you my Ducati he didn't do it out of guilt. He's got a plan."

"Oh, no," Felicity said, mockingly. "Not your Ducati." But she was grinning, despite the fact that her father's ex-partner was ten moves ahead of them in a game they hadn't even known they were playing.

"We need your help, Felicity," Oliver said, his voice soft and earnest.

Felicity let the sound ripple through her memories, hundreds of memories of him speaking to her in that voice that he only ever seemed to use on her. But she wouldn't give in to it. She couldn't. If Malcolm was getting her father out of the way it meant that, whatever he was up to, it was big. And the timing of her father being arrested, just when William Tockman and his rumored Skeleton Key resurface, didn't sit well with her either. Whatever Malcolm wanted, whatever his game was, they needed to stop it.

Her father might be a thief, but Malcolm Merlyn was the devil. Nothing good had ever come from that man except his son, Tommy. Who knows what Malcolm would do with a mythical key that could unlock anything? No, he couldn't be allowed to get his hands on it.

If it truly existed, that is.

"If we're going to do this," Felicity said, taking a deep breath, "then the first thing is to verify that the Skeleton Key exists, and that it's what Malcolm is after."

Oliver tried to hide his pleased smile by glancing down at his phone, but Felicity could see his dimples peeking out.

"I told you. We had good intel," he said, tapping out a message on his phone. "I'll have Cisco forward it to your phone so you can take a look."

"Cisco..." Felicity trailed off with a grin, thinking about her old friend. "Who else is still working with you?"

"Almost everyone. Especially after what happened to Noah," Oliver said, slipping his phone back into his pocket. He wasn't trying to hide his smile anymore, and Felicity felt it's full effect when he met her eyes.

She'd always gotten lost in those blue eyes. It was her one weakness. It had been ever since the day she'd turned fifteen and tried to steal a Rembrandt from the Queen mansion just to prove to her father that she could. That day had changed her life forever. It had also changed Oliver's, but she wasn't sorry for it.

Stealing, taking things that didn't belong to you just because you could, it didn't sit well with Felicity anymore. But she'd never be sorry for stealing from the Queen's that day, because it wasn't a painting she'd taken from the mansion. No, Felicity had stolen something much more valuable. She'd stolen a friend, a companion, a partner in crime. Literally. And, at the time, she hadn't ever planned on giving him back.

But it hadn't gone to plan—the important jobs never did—so now here she was, standing in the middle of MIT, in the middle of the new start she'd fought so hard for, ready to run away with the guy she'd been in love with for nearly five years. The guy who broke her heart, whether he realized it or not. And the only thing she could do was laugh and hope he couldn't hear the pain beneath it.

"Even Dig?" she asked.

Oliver pursed his lips and cocked his head to the side. "Do you really think Oliver Queen's bodyguard would let him run around the world with a band of international thieves alone?"

"You still refer to yourself in the third person, I see," she said, scrunching her nose up. "I'd kinda hoped you'd outgrown that."

"You and Dig, both," he laughed, then pointed over his shoulder in the direction of the main drive. "Speaking of which, he's waiting for us by the town car."

"Dig's here?" she asked, voice rising in excitement. She'd always loved Dig, like he was the brother she'd never had.

"Yes," Oliver said, gesturing for her to walk with him, his hand hovering over her lower back. "So if we can just go grab your stuff and be on our way..."

Felicity had fought for MIT. She'd fought her father, she'd fought Oliver, she'd fought herself. But, now, she didn't have much choice. If Noah was in trouble because of Malcolm Merlyn, then Felicity had to help him. MIT was important, but it wasn't as important as family.

"You'll come back," Oliver said softly, grabbing her attention. "Once we stop Merlyn and get Noah out of trouble. I'll bring you back myself."

But his blue eyes were shining and she was terrified that if she spent anymore time with him she might not want to come back at all. It had been hard enough to leave him the first time.

"I promise you, Felicity. I'll do everything in my power to give you the life you deserve."

"Okay," she choked out, ignoring the way her heart leaped at his promise. She couldn't deal with the connotations of it right now. They had bigger problems than Felicity's childhood crush on a man who would probably never see her as anything more than the girl who'd broken into his house one night and taught him how to be a thief.

Oliver nodded back, a soft 'okay' escaping his lips as he steered her in the direction of the dorms so she could grab her personal belongings.

They had a huge task ahead of them—Malcolm Merlyn wasn't a man to be trifled with—but she was confident that they could outthink him.

She and Oliver were a team. They'd always been a team. And they were a good one.

"Damn right we are," Oliver said beside her and Felicity glanced up, already feeling the flush heat her cheeks.

"How much of that did I say out loud?" she groaned, pressing a hand over her eyes.

Oliver grinned, finally pressing his hand to her waist and tugging her into his side.

"I'll never tell," he laughed, pulling her along.

And, despite her embarrassment over her non-existent brain to mouth filter, she laughed right along with him, because it was Oliver. And because after two and a half years away from her friends and family—two and a half years where the most interesting thing she'd done was accidentally eat a pot brownie—Felicity could admit, she was actually more than a little excited to get back in the game.


	2. Chapter 2

Golden tendrils danced before her eye as a swift breeze blew in from the northwest. She roped them in, twisting them up into a ponytail and out of her way. The last thing she needed tonight was to make a stupid mistake because her hair got in her eyes.

Off in the tree line, nearly invisible in the shadows, stood fifteen year old Felicity Smoak. The Queen Mansion, tall and imposing, rose up before her, but she wasn't afraid. She'd worked this plan a million times in her head. She knew the timing, the technique. It was, in all honesty, a fairly simple job.

It just so happened to also be her very first.

Sure, her father had taken her out as his wingman a few times, used her to distract a mark or security if needed. And her mother had taught her to pick pockets when she was just six years old. But this job was _her_ first. The first she'd conceived, planned, and was about to execute all on her own.

Pulling her laptop from her backpack, she quickly used the backdoor she'd created in the Queen's security to give herself a window of opportunity. Literally, a window. Specifically, a second story window in the east wing. The son's room.

Felicity had done her homework on the Queens as soon as she'd realized they had something she wanted to steal. Robert Queen, CEO of the multi-billion dollar Queen Consolidated, was rarely home, spending most of his time either at the office or off jet setting on ski trips and European vacations. His wife, Moira, spent her days giving back to the less fortunate by attending fundraising brunches with her wealthy friends. Their son, Oliver, was your average eighteen year old. He had a D in algebra, which told Felicity pretty much all she needed to know about him. Then there was Thea Queen, just eleven years old. Felicity hadn't been able to gather much about her other than she seemed to enjoy the attention the paparazzi gave her, always smiling into the camera as her parents ushered her away.

Besides the security team, Thea and her nanny were the only ones home tonight. According to Robert and Moira's flight manifest, they'd left for Italy the day before for an undetermined amount of time. And Oliver was at a party. She'd been tracking his social media all night to keep an eye on him.

Even at fifteen, Felicity was nothing if not thorough, and she'd spent the last two weeks staking out the mansion. She'd watched the security guards, tracked their movements, hacked their phones. It's how she knew the guard patrolling the perimeter of the east wing was very big into Candy Crush. It wasn't difficult to hack his phone and send him a notification from the game, reminding him to play. She'd already looped the cameras and shut down the alarm system, so she tucked her laptop back into her bag and waited. The guard called in his all clear signal, then pulled out his phone, tapping on the notification and losing himself in the glowing phone screen.

Breaking from the tree line, Felicity cut across the manicured lawn, heading for a very lovely and very convenient trellis. It was easy enough to climb, but Felicity had never been very athletic, preferring computers to most physical activity, so she took her time, making sure not to make too much noise. Soon enough she was ducking across the roof outside Oliver's window.

She'd chosen his room as her way in because, convenient trellising aside, her target was on the second floor of the east wing and it provided the fastest way in and out.

Crouching near the window, she shifted her bag around, pulling out the tools she'd need. She'd already shut down the alarms, so now it was just a simple matter of breaking and entering. The window lock was easy enough to pick and in less than thirty seconds she was slipping inside.

It was a large room, probably the same size as her mother's entire apartment, and it too came with expensive looking art on the walls. Other than that, it looked like a typical teenage boy's room. A pile of clothes sat outside the closet, a desk with a laptop and some school books with barely cracked spines. Felicity was pretty sure she could score a tidy sum just ransacking this room, but that wasn't what she was here for.

When your dad is a world class art thief and your mom is a legendary con woman, it sort of sets the bar a little higher than petty theft. Which was why she'd chosen this specific job to be her first. She had to prove that she could handle a real job, a real crew, and what better way then stealing a Jackson Pollock out from under the noses of the richest family in the city.

Felicity crept through the room, pulling her phone out and tapping open an app she'd created just for this job. She'd scanned in the mansion's blueprints, creating a perfect 3D rendering, and synced it with her hacked GPS data, allowing her to watch where security was in real time. Right now most of the security team was outside, but one lone guard did a loop of the main floor every twenty minutes. As long as she didn't do anything to garner attention, he would never even know she was there. Slipping her phone into her back pocket, Felicity took a deep breath then turned the door knob.

And came face to face with Oliver Queen.

Well, face to chest, anyway. It actually took her a moment to realize that it was Oliver and not the guards coming to apprehend her. A moment where fear and confusion and disappointment all battled it out to be the dominant emotion. She'd done everything right! How could they have known she was here? How did she miss a guard on the second floor?

"Who are you?" a male voice, just as confused, asked, and that's when she finally realized who was standing in front of her.

Not that it made anything better. Oliver wasn't a guard, but he could shout for the guy downstairs easily enough. There wasn't anything she could do to stop him. She'd never believed in using weapons. _A good thief doesn't need 'em_, her dad always said. _And if you get nabbed the sentence is longer_, was her mother's take on the subject. She'd never had a reason to think otherwise. But right then a strong taser would have really come in handy.

"You know, I can't say I mind finding a strange girl in my bedroom, but seriously. Who are you and what are doing here?" he asked again, eyeing her up and down.

She could see it in his eyes the moment he started to put the pieces together, but still she couldn't find the words to thwart the idea. She was normally so good with words. Well, not good. Very rarely good, but words, for better or worse, never failed her. Until she needed them most, of course.

"Um…"

"Are you _robbing_ me?" The question came out more bewildered than angry. In fact, he seemed almost amused by the idea. His brow furrowed, eyes narrowing as he took a good look at her. "How old are you?"

Funny how a simple question like that could be the thing that knocked Felicity's brain back into action. Something about the disbelief, the almost condescension, in the way he'd formed the sentence turned Felicity's fear into steel-willed teenage girl rage.

"I'm fifteen," she announced, head held high as she crossed her arms over her chest, trying to make herself look taller. Quite a feat when she was a good ten inches shorter than him. "What are you doing home anyway? You were supposed to be at a party tonight."

Oliver blinked, his head cocking to the side. "How do you know that?"

"Uh…" Felicity floundered for a moment, then figured she might as well tell him. It's not like she could get anymore caught, after all. "I may have set up facial recognition software to stalk your social media accounts. And your friends' accounts. To track you." She huffed, dropping her arms back to her sides. "Which clearly didn't work. Next time I'll just have to hack everyone's GPS as a backup." She looked back at him. "My data clearly said you'd be at the party until at least midnight."

He raised one incredulous eyebrow. "Your data?"

"Yeah. I ran an algorithm that took into account the number of photos and videos of you taken at every party you've been to in the last year and the course of time over which they were posted. According to that result you're usually at parties for about five hours on average. But it's only ten thirty and… here you are."

"Ruining your plans," he said with a smirk.

She rolled her eyes. For someone who'd come home to find a thief in his house, he was taking this rather well. Almost annoyingly well. Felicity couldn't help but think it was because she was a girl. He thought she was nothing but a joke, an anecdote to tell his friends.

"So…" he said, crossing his arms and casually leaning against the door jam. "What were you trying to steal?"

Gritting her teeth, she took a step back. "A painting."

"Well, there's certainly plenty of them. Mom's decorator convinced her they 'make a statement' but nobody but us ever even sees half of them."

Heaving a sigh, she asked, "Are you gonna call security or what?"

"Haven't decided yet. Which one did you come for?" he asked watching her curiously. His smirk grew, along with Felicity's irritation.

"Does it make a difference?"

He shrugged.

After a moment's hesitation she nodded past him where he still stood in the doorway and he took the hint, letting her scoot passed into the hall. Following the route she'd memorized over the past few weeks, Felicity moved quickly and quietly to the right. She couldn't say the same about the boy following behind her. She winced with every heavy footfall, but reminded herself that she'd already been caught. Just from their interaction so far she was pretty sure Oliver wasn't going to turn her in. Besides even if he did, she had an escape plan in place for just this reason. Pity her brain had fried before she'd been able to use it earlier.

Coming to a stop at the midway point of the hallway, she pointed towards the painting hanging there. It should have been her prize. Instead, it was a sign that her dad had been right. She wasn't ready for her own jobs. Couldn't handle the responsibility or the pressure.

Glancing at the painting on the wall, Oliver said, "This one? It's not even the nicest one in the house. My little sister's paintings are nicer than this."

She gave him an incredulous look. "This is a Jackson Pollock." When he didn't respond other than a casually raised eyebrow, she shook her head. "You know nothing about art for someone with millions of dollars of it hanging on his walls."

"And what are you, like, an art collector or something?"

"No. I'm a thief," she said confidently, crossing her arms.

If he was impressed she couldn't tell. "Well, if you're such a thief, how come you got caught then?"

"You didn't catch me. I can leave any time I want."

"I could always tell the police some kid broke in to steal my Jackson… whatever."

She seethed at being called a kid in that tone. She wasn't a kid, and some idiot rich boy getting the jump on her didn't mean she wasn't a thief.

"You could." Felicity shrugged, going for nonchalance even though her shoulders were stiff with anxiety. "But who would believe you? I could just start screaming that you lured me up here and suddenly you're the one the cops are investigating."

He smirked again, but this time it spread wider, transforming into a real smile. A smile so bright that even in the dark it was a little blinding. "So what was the plan?"

"What?" She blinked.

"The plan," he said, nodding towards the painting. "How did you plan to steal it?"

"Why would I tell you?"

"Because I have a proposition for you."

Felicity gave him a skeptical look. He was only a few years older than her, but his history with women was well documented in the tabloids and online gossip blogs. "What kind of proposition?"

"You show me how to steal this painting, and I won't tell anyone about the girl who snuck in through my window and made off with it."

"I don't believe you. Why would you want to help me steal your own painting?"

"Because my parents went off to Europe without me and I'm resentful." He shrugged, then hooked a thumb towards the painting. "And also that painting is really ugly. It looks like someone threw up on the canvas. I wouldn't mind never having to see it again."

Felicity's lips twitched against her will. "So you want to help me in order to get back at your parents?"

"I want to get back at my parents and I want to help you," he said, head tilting as he took her in. "You're the most interesting thing that's ever happened to me."

Despite common sense telling her this was a mistake, something in his eyes—those blue, blue eyes—told her she could trust him. And that's how she ended up doing the stupidest thing she'd ever done in her life.

She showed him how to steal a painting.

###

"Hey."

Felicity's head snapped up to see Oliver sitting across from her, a worried expression contorting his face.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," she said with a small shake of her head. "Just dozed off a little."

That was mostly true. The moment they'd stepped foot on the plane, Felicity had been overcome with a wave of exhaustion. Probably something to do with the emotional weight of packing up most of her life and heading back across the country to help the father she hadn't seen in almost three years. Oliver had settled in and ordered a drink from the flight attendant, and John Diggle, after a very warm reception, had moved to the back of the private plane to call his wife.

"We're almost there," Oliver commented casually, sipping his scotch.

She nodded, glancing out the window. Miles and miles of nothing but patchwork farmland stretched out below them, seeming like it would go on forever. But it wouldn't. Soon enough it would give way to mountains, then thick green forests, and then they'd be home. To Starling City. Both dread and excitement coursed through her at the thought.

"For what it's worth," Oliver said, stealing her attention. "I'm glad you're back."

"I'm not back."

It was a steely-voiced denial. A promise to herself not to get sucked back in. Not to let him suck her back in.

Oliver sighed, taking another sip of his scotch. "Yeah. I know."


End file.
